


Moonlight Dripping on Your Skin: an Embroidery

by HollowNightmare



Series: Geralt and Jaskier being soft™ [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wrote this instead of studying, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Slash, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, hand holding, past self-harm, send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22492441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowNightmare/pseuds/HollowNightmare
Summary: "Hey. You okay?"Jaskier got closer to his friend, lowered himself down and touched one of his shoulders lightly.Geralt flinched back. "Don't tou- go away". His voice was low and pained. Jaskier had no intention of going away, but he did get back."Please, let me help. What's wrong?"The Witcher lifted his head. Jaskier sucked in a breath. His eyes were black — the potions, then."Alright. What do you need?"We all know Witchers use potions that enhance their sight, hearing, movements and whatnot; and they're super useful in fights, but I reckon they would be the exact opposite if their effects were to last longer than the fight itself. So! This is my take on what would happen in that case.TW: past self-harm (implied)[can be read as a standalone]edit: chapter 2 added!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geralt and Jaskier being soft™ [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596391
Comments: 76
Kudos: 1280





	1. Jaskier

**Author's Note:**

> I worry Geralt is a bit ooc here but maybe not who knows (certainly not me, the Author™)
> 
> I have two exams in the next five days: it's the perfect time to write some witchery things. Enjoy!

They (well, Jaskier) hadn't meant to stop in that village for the night — they were just passing through and planned to be in some other place by the end of the day, but of course a young blacksmith apprentice had asked them (well, decidedly _Geralt_ ) for help with some kind of monster. 

"So! What vile beast will you slay today?"

Geralt gave no signs of having heard the question, which meant he totally did hear it and wasn't feeling chatty.

"Oh, come on! Is it something I can put in a song?"

The Witcher shrugged.

"Geralt. I know Witchers are tough, but you need to eat just as much as I do, and we have no coin, which means I'll have to sing. A lot. Give me something".

Geralt sighed, then muttered something about Mucknixers.

Jaskier was _thrilled_. "With a name like that they can't be overly easy to kill, I'd wager. If you let me come with you I'll definitely manage to make a song out of it!"

The Witcher snorted. "You're not coming".

Jaskier wasn't thrilled anymore. "But how am I going to write a song about it, if I'm not there? You hardly tell me anything, and it's never useful".

"Jaskier. Mucknixers are like Drowners, but more dangerous. They're easy enough to kill, but there's going to be a lot of them, and they prey on people who are near water and make any kind of noise. You make too much noise, far more than any other person I've ever met. I can't fight them if I have to focus on protecting you".

The bard swallowed. He liked to live. Didn't plan on dying any time soon.

"...but you'll tell me about it, right?"

Geralt grunted.

"Wonderful! I'll just… wait here, then". He elected the nearest rock as his seat, and observed the Witcher as he took off towards the lake where the Mucknixers had been last spotted.

* * *

Geralt _had_ said that the monsters were easy to kill, but Jaskier still thought something must have gone wrong when he saw the Witcher coming towards him, just a few minutes later.  
His sword looked perfectly clean, as did his clothes and hair.

"So… did the boy lie? Or you just couldn't find the monsters?"

Geralt shook his head. "Monster, singular. And it wasn't a Mucknixer, just a regular Drowner. Got rid of him with Igni. Needn't have bothered with the potions".

His eyes were still black, as were the veins around them. Jaskier shrugged. "We'll get paid anyway".

The Witcher grunted.

"Shall we go drink something? It's rather late to resume our travelling — I'll sing for a bit, we can take a room for the night and be gone tomorrow morning".

Another grunt. "I'll check up on Roach".  
He started walking way too fast for Jaskier to follow, so the bard took his time and headed for the nearest inn. Geralt knew how to find him.

Except — the Witcher still hadn't shown up, twenty minutes later. Roach hadn't been that far away and, while it was true that Geralt liked his horse, he usually didn't spend that much time checking up on her.  
Jaskier wasn't really worried (the Witcher could take care of himself better than anyone), but he still wanted to find out what was taking his friend so long. As soon as he finished singing _The Fishmonger's Daughter_ he thanked his audience, promised he would come back for more, and went searching for Geralt.

He found him in a matter of minutes, as he was indeed with Roach.  
The horse was standing under an oak, munching something that sounded like a carrot; Geralt was right beside her, crouching on the ground, with his head in his hands, and it didn't look like he was enjoying being alive.

"...Geralt?"

The Witcher curled up even more.

"Hey. You okay?"  
Jaskier got closer to his friend, lowered himself down and touched one of his shoulders lightly.

Geralt flinched back. "Don't tou- go away". His voice was low and pained. Jaskier had no intention of going away, but he did get back.

"Please, let me help. What's wrong?" 

The Witcher lifted his head. Jaskier sucked in a breath. His eyes were black — the potions, then. 

"Alright. What do you need?"

"I can feel everything. It won't stop".

"When you say you can _feel everything_..."

"I hear the heartbeats of people living on the other side of the village. I know exactly what kind of ale you drank. There's a robin singing near the lake". His voice broke, and became a whisper. "I can't bear it".

 _Okay._ Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking as fast as he could. "Follow me".

He helped Geralt up, and brought him to the lake. "Alright. You're going in. And you're staying under until the potions wear off. And I'm coming with you just in case you drown".

The Witcher looked mildly offended. "I can hold my breath".

"I know! Come on".

They dived in. The water was freezing, black ink shimmering in the moonlight; it welcomed Geralt's suffering frame, embraced his silver hair, and made him disappear under its smooth surface.  
Jaskier stood next to his friend, holding his hand ("In case you forget which way is up!"), water up to his waist, hoping this would actually help.

They didn't have to wait long — soon enough Geralt's hold on Jaskier's hand tightened, and he surfaced, his eyes now yellow and less pained.  
The bard looked at him expectantly.

"I'm fine. Let's go".

* * *

Upon arriving at the inn, Geralt went straight to their room to dry off, while Jaskier went back to his singing ("That room won't pay for itself, Geralt. And the public loves me!"). 

An hour later he joined his friend. Geralt was sitting by the fireplace, huddled in a blanket which served both as a shield against the cold and as clothing; his glimmering eyes half-closed, hair loose and still wet framing his face. He didn't react when Jaskier entered the room, and went on basking in the warmth.

"Someone's looking cozy! How are you doing?"

The Witcher didn't bother answering. "I'd never thought of that — the water, that is". He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the blanket. "Thank you".

"Oh, yes, right. Well, when you're underwater you can't really hear what's happening around you, so I thought that maybe the lake could help. And you don't have to thank me, we're friends! Friends help each other! Also I already- _wait a second._ " He looked at Geralt with suspicion. "What do you mean, you've never thought of that? You mean this — this thing with the potions — has happened before?"

"Hm".

"Well, what did you do? How did you manage?"

Geralt kept looking at the fire, apparently uninterested in keeping the conversation going.

"Oh, that's okay, you don't really need to answer that. I'm just glad I could help".

The Witcher averted his eyes from the flames, and turned them to his bare arms. "You know," he said, lightly, pointing at his scars "I haven't got all these in fights".

Jaskier stared first at his face, then at his arms and torso, at a loss for words for a couple of moments, then managed to let out a " _What?_ ". He blinked slowly, collecting himself. "Oh, what, you thought pain would be an acceptable distraction? Are all Witchers this stupid? _Fuck_ , Geralt". He tugged at his hair, then sighed. "Alright, just… if this happens again, come and ask me for help. Don't hide away somewhere. I promise I'll do my best. Just don't- don't".

Geralt looked a bit puzzled. "It's fine, Jaskier".

A strangled sound came out of the bard's throat. "No. It's really not. Don't you dare tell me it's fine. Just… no". He felt something wet sliding down his cheeks, and realized he was crying. 

"...okay" said Geralt, softly, and scooted over so that the bard could join him in front of the fire.  
Jaskier sat down next to him, leaning on his shoulder. His eyelids started to droop, and he thought he was fine with spending the night like that.  
As he started to fall asleep, he felt Geralt's head on top of his, resting gently.


	2. Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same story, Geralt's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and your amazing comments! I really hope you'll like this chapter. Writing Geralt's POV is,,, hard.
> 
> Also! I thought I should let you all know that the way Joey Batey sings that “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting” line in _Her Sweet Kiss_ makes me physically weak. I don’t actually know what you could do with this information, sorry.

When the boy had started rambling about monsters in the lake, Geralt had decided it was time to pay attention. Apparently it was infested by Mucknixers, and the villagers were terrified enough to be willing to pay someone to get rid of them.

The Witcher knew common people’s opinions on what was plaguing them could seldom be trusted; they kept confusing one monster for the other, and fear fueled their imagination: Kikimoras ended up having more legs than they should, Wraiths became corporeal, and Harpies were always seen hunting alone.

Still, you could never know whether you were listening to rumours, filled with all kinds of erroneous details, or to something close to reality. That, for Geralt, meant he always had to prepare for the worst-case scenario, which this time was a swarm of Mucknixers.

As always, Jaskier was pestering him about it.

“So! What vile beast will you slay today?”

Geralt did not answer, hoping the bard would let him be, and knowing he wouldn’t.

"Oh, come on! Is it something I can put in a song?"

The Witcher pondered the question. Jaskier could turn anything into a song, probably. But were Mucknixers song-worthy? He didn’t know, nor care. He shrugged.

The bard said something about them being without coin and having to sing to make up for it. He wasn’t wrong. Geralt sighed. “It’s Mucknixers”.

Jaskier looked really excited about that, for some reason beyond the Witcher’s understanding. 

"With a name like that they can't be overly easy to kill, I'd wager.” Well, that explained it. The poor man hoped he could write several stanzas about the fight that was going to take place. Geralt would have pitied him, were it not that the bard’s ignorance when it came to monsters amused him to no end.

“If you let me come with you I'll definitely manage to make a song out of it!" 

Now _that_ was out of the question. The Witcher thought briefly about what would happen if Jaskier brought his usual overly-chatting self along on the hunt, didn’t like what he saw, and snorted. Of course Jaskier had thought he could come with: he didn’t know what Mucknixers were. “You’re not coming”.

The bard looked less excited now. Geralt was pretty sure his companion was pouting.

"But how am I going to write a song about it, if I'm not there? You hardly tell me anything, and it's never useful".

Definitely pouting. He decided to humour him, and explain why letting him come would be a terrible idea. By the end of his little speech, the bard seemed reluctant to insist on going with him.

"...but you'll tell me about it, right?" he asked feebly.

Geralt supposed he could.

* * *

Geralt knew he probably wouldn’t have to deal with Mucknixers; he would find himself facing a single Mucknixer, or a group of Drowners, maybe. Still, he prepared for Mucknixers. 

He drank his potions, to increase his speed and enhance his senses; he sharpened his sword, and got ready to use what little magic he knew.

As it turned out, he shouldn’t have bothered with the potions, nor with the sword. When he got to the lake, everything was silent; a gust of wind caressed his face and the water, creating small waves that rippled to the shore. He almost regretted having to ruin the stillness of that moment, but the quickest way to draw the monsters out of the lake was to make noise.

He got as near to the water as he could, and started throwing rocks into the lake. Soon enough, a figure emerged from the lagoon — a Drowner. Geralt sighed, and found himself wishing, for the millionth time, that people could stop describing things they didn’t actually see. He cast Igni, and the Drowner burned to death.

He headed towards the place where he’d left Jaskier just a few minutes before, hoping, as he walked through a copse of pine trees, that the potions would lose their effect as soon as possible.

  
  


Jaskier looked surprised to see him. "So… did the boy lie? Or you just couldn't find the monsters?"

Geralt shook his head, and explained what had happened. The bard then pointed out that they would get paid anyway, which sounded like a wise remark, but the Witcher was feeling a bit too overwhelmed to let him know that, so he just grunted.

Back at the lake, he’d been almost fine. Sure, thanks to the potions he noticed everything he saw, heard, touched or smelled, but the number of things he could pick up there was limited. Right now, though, being around Jaskier was… too much. Which was why, when the bard proposed they could go drink something, he came up with an excuse and got away as fast as he could.

His feet brought him to the oak where they had left Roach. The horse looked happy to see him, and he gave her a carrot, which wasn’t a brilliant idea — Roach started munching enthusiastically, and his head, which had already been pounding for some time because of all the noises, _exploded_. That’s what it felt like, at least.

Geralt found himself unable to stand, and he fell to the ground. It was all too much. He could see everything, from the hair on Roach’s ears to the splinters of wood stuck into a passerby’s garment; he could hear the heartbeats of half the village, smell their bodily odours; it was as if the whole world was attacking him, on all fronts, and he could do nothing to protect himself except curling up into a ball, wishing it would end soon. 

He took his head in his hands, and hoped to pass out.

Sadly, he did not.

He felt someone approaching, and a jolt of pain shot through him. They said something, but the pain made it impossible to understand what.

Suddenly, something was _touching_ him. Geralt flinched back. That hadn't been some _thing_ , but some _one_. He managed to say something, but now his throat was on fire, and why _couldn’t the damn potions stop working_ , when — “Please, let me help. What’s wrong?” _Jaskier_.

Geralt lifted his head, and met his eyes. The bard made a face.

“Alright. What do you need?”

The Witcher felt like crying. “I can feel everything. It won’t stop”. _Please, help me_ was left unsaid, but Jaskier probably got it anyway, because after a brief explanation he hauled him up and suddenly they were walking towards the lake. Well, the bard was walking. Geralt was mainly stumbling, but they got there nonetheless.

"Alright. You're going in. And you're staying under until the potions wear off. And I'm coming with you just in case you drown".

The Witcher scoffed. _As if_. “I can hold my breath”. Which was an understatement, and they both knew that.

  
  


The water was cold, which was a good thing. He’d be too numb to feel anything. Geralt slipped under, his hand in Jaskier’s, and let himself go.

Soon, he understood why the bard had brought him there. He could still hear things, but they were mostly echoes, and there were no smells, and nothing to see except for the blackness engulfing him. Jaskier’s hand was the only thing he could sense, and it was warm and calloused and oh-so-gentle in holding his own. For a minute or so, the Witcher felt at peace.

When he surfaced, the first thing he saw was the sky. The moon was shining, and countless stars were embroidered in the black fabric of the night. All was silent, even Jaskier, who was watching him intently.

The Witcher spent a moment observing his friend. He looked a bit worried, and tired, and cold. Geralt’s eyes stumbled upon Jaskier’s face, and he stopped breathing, because _Jaskier had stars in his eyes_ , and _Why had he never noticed?_

* * *

When they arrived at the inn, Geralt went straight to his room. He was cold, wet, and tired. He stripped down and went sitting by the fire, covering himself with a blanket. 

As he watched the flames consume the logs he’d thrown at them, he found himself thinking about Jaskier. The bard had really helped him, this time. He had been able to think and act quickly, and he’d managed to find a solution to his problem, which was no small feat. He’d have to thank him.

The fire was crackling, its sparkles flying to his face and hair. Geralt could faintly hear people singing downstairs. He smiled to himself.

After a while, Jaskier joined him. The Witcher paid him no mind at first, but then the bard said something, and he thought that it was as good a time as any to thank him. 

"I'd never thought of that — the water, that is".

It was absurd, really — how could he have not thought about it? And yet, he hadn’t. Maybe he wasn’t as clever as he believed himself to be.

“Thanks”.

The bard looked rather pleased with himself. He started rambling about friendship, but then he stopped and looked at him… _suspiciously_. Geralt braced himself.

"What do you mean, you've never thought of that? You mean this — this thing with the potions — has happened before?"

He hummed. 

"Well, what did you do? How did you manage?"

The Witcher didn’t know whether _manage_ was the right word, here. His mind was suddenly filled with all kinds of images, and for a moment he thought he could smell blood. The flames were dancing in front of his eyes. He hadn’t always had Jaskier. Sometimes, he’d had a blade. Or a fire. Sometimes he’d had drunk people looking for someone to beat up, and he had let them. Other times he’d had nothing but his own hands. 

The bard had said something.

Geralt looked away from the flames, and turned his eyes on his arms. He had scars everywhere. He remembered how he got each and every one of them — they still hurt, when he thought about it. "You know," he said, trying to keep his tone light, pointing at them "I haven't got all these in fights".

Jaskier just stared at him. He had a strange look; it was almost as if he was… _angry?_

" _What?_ Oh, what, you thought pain would be an acceptable distraction? Are all Witchers this stupid? _Fuck_ , Geralt". 

Definitely angry. But also definitely worried. Geralt didn’t mind angry, but he did very much mind worried, because if Jaskier was worried it meant that he cared, and that was not supposed to happen. No-one was supposed to care about him.

"Alright, just… if this happens again, come and ask me for help. Don't hide away somewhere. I promise I'll do my best. Just don't- don't".

Geralt did not understand how the bard could be so distressed. It was fine. He was fine. He’d always been fine. “It’s fine, Jaskier”.

This was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because his friend made a sound and started crying.

"No. It's really not. Don't you dare tell me it's fine. Just… no".

_Okay_ , he thought. _We can work on it_. He scooted a bit closer to the wall, so that Jaskier could sit next to him, which he did. He felt the bard’s head rest on his shoulder, and saw his eyes close.

They both needed to sleep, preferably on a bed. Geralt knew that. But he was tired, _so tired_ , of keeping his friend at a distance. He put an arm around the bard’s shoulders, and rested his head on Jaskier’s.

They could stay like this, just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was it. I hope it lived up to your expectations!

**Author's Note:**

> Toss some love to your author, o reader of fanfics
> 
> Let me know what you think about this!
> 
> You can yell at me on [tumblr](https://www.pengwings-are-cool.tumblr.com)
> 
> Have a nice day! :)


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